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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108348">autumn prelude</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsiriuslyriddikulus/pseuds/iamsiriuslyriddikulus'>iamsiriuslyriddikulus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:22:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsiriuslyriddikulus/pseuds/iamsiriuslyriddikulus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers moves to a small town in upstate New York to teach history at the local community college, he doesn’t expect to fall for the town mechanic, Bucky Barnes. But sometimes you don’t have a say in matters of the heart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>138</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>autumn prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky—as the mechanic had introduced himself—wipes an arm across his forehead, smearing a little bit of grease, and despite his best efforts to pay attention, Steve can't help but stare at it as Bucky explains. "Your serpentine belt's just loose, like I figured. Not a big problem. Happens all the time." He points to a specific spot under the hood of the car, and Steve's eyes flicker down for a moment before making their way back toward Bucky.</p><p>It’s hard to concentrate on what Bucky’s saying. Steve’s eyes drift over to his haphazard bun, down to his rolled up sleeves, back up to the beads of sweat clinging to the back of his neck.</p><p>Steve swallows, and he barely catches himself when Bucky turns around and looks back at Steve. The corner of his lips quirk slightly upward, and although it’s nearly imperceptible, Steve is certain that he catches something akin to amusement in Bucky’s gaze.</p><p>“Make sense?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods and does his best to look like he’s been following along. “Great, then let me write you up, and you can go check out.”</p><p>Steve inhales sharply. <em>No</em>, he wants to tell Bucky and ask him to explain something else, if only to watch as he works at the car, careful and engrossed, his movements fluid and familiar. But there’s nothing to say. So Steve just smiles and stretches out a hand.</p><p>“You’re going to get grease all over ya,” Bucky says, but Steve holds his gaze and doesn’t drop his hand, so Bucky takes it. His grip is firm, and Steve lingers just a moment too long before letting go.</p><p>“Thank you so much,” Steve says, and after one final look, he turns around and goes back inside to pay.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Even though he isn’t in the car when it happens, Steve is more thrilled than he ought to be when his car is rear-ended. When he calls to make an appointment, he tries to make his voice sound nonchalant as he asks, “Which days is Bucky in? He did such a great job last time.”</p><p>He settles on a 2pm appointment on Saturday. Despite making the call on a Thursday afternoon, the days creep by slowly, and by the time Saturday comes, Steve feels oddly anxious. He forgets to eat after his morning run and nearly misses watering his one plant—though the latter is a more common occurrence than he cares to admit.</p><p>Steve’s certain he’s seen other men in wifebeaters and overalls before Bucky, but if he has, he can’t remember. He watches as Bucky works to repair the bumper on his car, transfixed by the way his back muscles move. Steve wishes he were closer so that he could see the way Bucky’s hand flexes, but he knows it’d be rude to hover like that.</p><p>The last traces of the summer heat linger in the September air, and Steve fills up a paper cup at the water cooler in their store. When he comes back out, Bucky is about done, and he uses it as an excuse to meander back over.</p><p>“How’s it looking?” Steve asks. Bucky stands up and wipes himself on his overalls.</p><p>“Good as new.” He motions, and Steve nods, impressed by how glossy it looks. “You’re lucky you weren’t in the car. You would have gotten a little banged up for sure.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Steve doesn’t let the silence linger for more than a moment, certain that if he does, Bucky will hand him the receipt to take inside and pay, and he doesn’t feel ready quite yet. “So, how long have you been fixing cars?”</p><p>Bucky’s right eyebrow rises slightly, and he smiles. “Nearly twenty years. I started with my dad when I was fifteen or so. Trust me when I say that if these are your problems, you’re in good shape. I mean, I know it’s always a pain in the ass to come here—”</p><p>“Not at all.” The words come out too quickly, and Steve sighs before amending. “I mean, I’d rather not have a busted bumper if I can help it, but I don’t mind coming here. You’re all great. Back where I was, it was definitely more of a pain in the ass.”</p><p>“Where’s that?” Bucky asks.</p><p>“Brooklyn. Love the city, but it definitely comes with its own quirks and inconveniences.”</p><p>"Used to want to live there.”</p><p>“And now?” Steve asks.</p><p>“Nothing wrong with a small town in upstate New York,” Bucky says, motioning around. “I’ve gotten kind of used to the quiet, and nothing beats the fall. You been here before when the leaves change color?”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. “I only moved here in May.”</p><p>Bucky reaches out and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “Well, welcome. You’re in for a treat. It’s like a postcard.” His hand drops, and he pulls a pen out from behind his ear and the notepad out from his pocket.</p><p>Steve wistfully takes the paper and wishes him a good day.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Nearly a month passes, and Steve finds himself wishing that there would be a reason to go to the mechanic. He’s grateful not to have the extra expense, but he starts hoping that his check engine light will turn on. He’s busy with work now that the semester has ramped up. The kids are eager enough to learn for the most part. Still, when he passes by Barnes &amp; Barton Auto Repair Shop, he can’t help but slow down.</p><p>One Saturday afternoon, when he’s passing by, he decides he’s had enough. He turns into the parking lot, excuses running through his head—perhaps he can say that he hears an intermittent clicking sound. Before he has enough time to question it, he parks and makes his way inside.</p><p>After a moment, a mechanic he hasn’t seen before walks out. “Can I help you?”</p><p>Steve falters and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says, and he tries to think of what to do. The last thing he wants to do is pay for a bullshit excuse if he’s not going to get to see Bucky in the process. “I was wondering if the other mechanic, Bucky, was here. He’d said something to me last time I was here, and I had a follow-up question.”</p><p>“I’m sure I could answer your question,” the man says and frowns. He is visibly losing patience in front of Steve, and the last thing he wants to do is offend anybody.</p><p>“It was personal, about the town,” Steve says, and the excuse sounds flimsy, even to him. The man’s eyes narrow, and he takes Steve up and down.</p><p>“Are you Steve?” he finally asks, and Steve’s stomach drops.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Tall, muscular, not very inconspicuous. You fit the bill.” He scratches his chin, and when Steve doesn’t say anything, a small, weary smile breaks across his face. “I’m gonna do you a favor and give you Bucky’s number. It’s just wasting both of our time if you’re here when you don’t need to be, and I’m sure it’ll be cheaper to take him out to dinner than come to the shop.”</p><p>“I really did need to be the first two times,” Steve mumbles. He flushes when the mechanic hands him a paper with a number scribbled onto it.</p><p>“I’m Clint by the way.” With that, Clint leaves.</p><p>Steve stares at the paper for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. His face burns, and he rubs at his arm anxiously. Despite the wave of embarrassment, he knows that this means that Bucky’s talked about him, and at least that’s something concrete to go off of.</p><p>Steve sits in his car for a minute, steadying his breath, before driving back home.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Every time he thinks about his conversation with Clint, Steve shuts his eyes and tries to will the memory of Clint’s bemused expression out of his mind. It’s enough to make him wait a week before he finally texts Bucky one day from his office. He writes out several texts and erases them before finally hitting send.</p><p><strong>Steve </strong>(12:27)<br/>
This is Steve Rogers. Clint gave me your number last week.</p><p>He sets his phone down, but he’s hardly halfway through grading his first paper when he feels it vibrate.</p><p><em>Bucky</em> (12:42)<br/>
And here I was heckling Clint for giving me your number. I was sure you weren’t going to text me.</p><p>Steve smiles and sets his pen down.</p><p><strong>Steve</strong> (12:44)<br/>
I was debating whether I’d made too much of a fool of myself to ever show my face again, but it turns out the next car shop is a few miles out of town. Had to make amends.</p><p><em>Bucky</em> (12:48)<br/>
So you’re just texting me to keep me on retainer in case your car breaks down.</p><p><strong>Steve</strong> (12:51)<br/>
I suppose it’d be nice to grab a bite to eat too. I haven’t had a chance to really eat out much here.</p><p>He waits ten minutes, and when Bucky doesn’t text back, he sets the phone down and bites the inside of his cheek. After fifteen, his stomach starts to churn. Steve dives back into grading, and his phone stays silent until it’s time to teach his second class of the day.</p><p>He feels distracted throughout the lesson, and after his second mix-up, he decides to let the class go five minutes early. He waits until all the students have filed out before he fishes out his phone.</p><p><em>Bucky </em>(2:34)<br/>
On a date or as friends?</p><p>He stares at the text, trying to decipher its tone before he finally gives up with a frustrated sigh.</p><p><strong>Steve </strong>(3:06)<br/>
Friends.</p><p><em>Bucky</em> (3:08)<br/>
Friday 6pm, then. Oak &amp; Fern on Grand St. It’s a not-date.</p><p>Steve lets out a choked laugh, puts his phone back in his pocket, and packs up his bag.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Bucky sends him a text that he’s running ten minutes late, but Steve gets there on time nonetheless. The restaurant is relatively busy, and although he tries to ask for a table, he’s told by the maître d’—a slender redhead in a black dress—that everyone has to be there to be seated. Instead, Steve sits down at the bench by the door as he waits, doing his best to tune out the sea of conversations. Oak &amp; Fern has a New American feel and an open concept, and Steve puts his hands in his front pockets as he glances around, soaking it in. If it weren’t so large, it could be right out of Brooklyn.</p><p>He’s gotten used to the door chiming behind him and has stopped turning around, so when he hears Bucky’s voice, it nearly makes him jump. “Steve?”</p><p>He turns around and has to stop himself from staring. He’s only ever seen Bucky working—greasy and coated in sweat. He still has his hair up in a bun, but he looks put together in just a black t-shirt and jeans. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Bucky says.</p><p>“I got your text, but I was already out of my office and on my way to the car. I didn’t mind waiting.” They walk over to the maître d’, and she smiles at Bucky.</p><p>“Well, look who it is, and not alone for once. I take it you want the table, not the bar, Barnes.”</p><p>“Hey yourself, Wanda. Table for two would be nice.”</p><p>She sits them down and walks away, and Steve smiles. “Perks of a small town—I suppose. You know everyone.”</p><p>Bucky nods. “Wanda owns the restaurant with her husband, Vision. She’s their pastry chef. Makes a killer beignet.”</p><p>“Vision?” Steve asks.</p><p>“It’s just what everyone calls him. His real name’s—” Bucky pauses and laughs. “Actually, I don’t think I know his real name.” Bucky skims over the specials before setting the menu down. “So, you mentioned an office. What do you do?”</p><p>“I’m a visiting professor at the community college round here.”</p><p>“What do you teach?”</p><p>“History.”</p><p>“Why history?”</p><p>“It’s always relevant?” Steve pauses and takes a moment to look through the menu, and when he glances up, Bucky’s giving him a quizzical look.</p><p>“How is that possible? It’s literally the study of the past.”</p><p>“Well, any good historian knows that the past, present, and future are always in conversation with one another.”</p><p>Bucky laughs, and Steve’s cheeks heat up. “How profound.”</p><p>“Not really.” He tries to distract himself with the menu, but Bucky waves his hand and gives him an apologetic look.</p><p>“No, no, I mean it genuinely. I have a bad tendency to sound sarcastic when I’m sincere. It’s gotten me into more trouble than I’d care to admit.” If Bucky’s shit-eating grin is anything to go by, he’s telling the truth.</p><p>Before Steve has a chance to say anything else, a waiter walks over to them and asks to take their order. “We’ll get the maple-roasted brussels sprouts to share,” Bucky says, “and I’ll have the beer-braised short ribs, thanks.”</p><p>The waiter scribbles it down and looks over at Steve. He’s barely had time to look at the menu, so he just motions to Bucky. “I’ll have the same.” He hands over the menu. “Thank you so much.”</p><p>“Sorry. I should have checked to make sure you knew what you wanted,” Bucky says when the waiter walks out of earshot. “Guess I just got excited.”</p><p>“I don’t mind. I trust your taste. Tell me more about the maple-roasted brussels sprouts.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>Steve half-expects their first date to end with a kiss. They get lost in conversation until closing, and the darkness of the night envelops them when they step to their cars. But it doesn’t. “Text me if you want to do this again,” Bucky says, and Steve can’t help the growing ball of disappointment in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>They meet three weeks later at a bar. They’re both into their second drink when they reach for their glasses at the same time, and their hands brush up against each other. Steve nearly falters, and when their eyes meet, he is certain he sees Bucky’s gaze darken and catches him staring at his lips. But the moment passes, and their conversation carries on. By 1am, when they decide to go home, Bucky has drunk enough that he chooses not to drive home. Steve insists on giving him a ride. It’s difficult to keep a conversation going when half his energy goes to his awareness of how close Bucky is. By the time they pull up to Bucky’s house, Steve makes up his mind that he wants to kiss Bucky.</p><p>For a moment, they sit still as Bucky mumbles something about “here’s me”. And before Steve can work up the nerve to lean forward, he opens the door. “Thanks for the ride,” Bucky says, and he gives Steve a wide, drunken grin.</p><p>He receives a text the next morning.</p><p><em>Bucky</em> (9:08)<br/>
How’s next Sunday morning looking for you?</p><p>Warmth spreads over Steve as he smiles and texts Bucky back.</p><p>* * *</p><p>“I promised you fall,” Bucky says as he parks the car. “The trails should still be empty this early in the day.” He grabs his backpack from the back seat and locks the door behind them. The autumn air is still crisp, and the leaves crunch under their feet. It’s a far cry from the bustle of the city that Steve’s so used to.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” he says. Although the trails are visible, the woods are dense. This late in the fall, with a third of the leaves gone, the sun shines through in bright patches against the dirt. When he breathes in deep, he feels the sharp sting of the cool air in his lungs, and the smell of the dirt and nature, although unfamiliar, is oddly comforting.</p><p>“What made you move here?” Bucky asks. “Most people wouldn’t give up the city if you paid them.”</p><p>“The city I grew up in isn’t there anymore.” Steve furrows his brow and does his best to ignore the way his stomach clenches.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Bucky asks.</p><p>“I watched it disappear as I grew up. Whole neighborhoods were gone just like that. I mean—things change, and I get it, but it doesn’t always feel like it’s for the better.” He pauses before he adds, “And when my mother passed two years ago, it didn’t feel like there was anything tying me down anymore.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.</p><p>Steve shrugs and does his best not to look as if the thought of it still feels like a punch to the stomach. “It happens.” He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him but knows if he meets them, he’ll break. Instead, he focuses straight ahead on the path in front of them.</p><p>“My mother passed when I was twenty-one. The only time I didn’t live there was when I went off to college, and I was in the middle of my senior year. I spent a long time angry at the timing of it all. Angry at my dad for needing me back there.” The revelation catches Steve off-guard, and he stops walking and faces Bucky.</p><p>“It never really stops hurting, but it does get easier. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that, though.”</p><p>“I don’t want it to get easier,” Steve says. “I don’t want to get used to it.”</p><p>Bucky’s reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his. And when his thumb brushes along the back, the knot in Steve’s throat slowly untangles and disappears. It’s unexpected and kind, and his eyes burn before he closes them and takes a steadying breath.</p><p>Bucky gives his hand a final squeeze before dropping it. “C’mon, there’s a clearing ahead overlooking the creek, and I brought lunch for us.” Steve opens his eyes and follow him.</p><p>The view is beautiful, trees dangling over the edge and moss growing along the bank. It’s not a far drop to the creek—ten feet at most—but they sit with their legs dangling off the edge as Bucky opens his backpack and hands Steve a water bottle. “I know it’s a bit early for lunch, but I could eat. I wasn’t sure what your taste was, so I just packed two different ones. Turkey and avocado or cheddar, apple, and ham?”</p><p>“Apple and ham?”</p><p>“Don’t knock it before you try it. With a little bit of spinach as well.” Bucky pinches his thumb and index finger together, kisses them, and tosses his hand out. "Perfect."</p><p>“Fine, I’ll try it,” he says, but the skepticism must carry onto his voice because Bucky laughs.</p><p>“How about you take a bite, and if you hate it, you can have the turkey sandwich?”</p><p>Steve eyes the sandwich warily before taking a bite. The crunch and tartness of the apple works well with the rest of the sandwich. It takes him a moment to register the tanginess of the sourdough and the sharp bite of mustard, but when he does, he lets out a satisfied hum.</p><p>“It’s good, right?” Bucky says and beams at him.</p><p>“You’re onto something, Barnes.” He takes another bite.</p><p>“So, tell me more about teaching.” Bucky fishes out his own sandwich and takes a bite. “Did you teach in Brooklyn too?”</p><p>“Technically Queens. Queensborough Community College,” Steve says. “It’s obviously different here than there, but you just get to see a lot of kids with a variety of interests, and it’s really gratifying to see where they start out and where they end up. I’m helping a current student, Ricky, apply for several PhD programs. He’s a great kid, really dedicated, but his grades took a hit his first two years due to some personal issues. The whole system fucks them over, though, and so often they just need someone who they can rely on to help them. It’s a hard line to balance. You want them to know you’re there for them, but you need to give them their space, too. Some professors view kids as their projects, and that’s not really the way about it.”</p><p>“What made you lean towards community college?”</p><p>“I also considered teaching high schoolers. I still haven’t entirely ruled it out. Academia has plenty of problems. A lot of elitism, prestige-chasing. There’s less bullshit with community colleges. Or maybe a different kind of bullshit. I don’t know. No one can tell me that the kids at those schools try any less hard than the rich kids messing around at NYU.” Steve makes a face.</p><p>“There’s more to you than meets the eye.”</p><p>It takes Steve a moment to realize that Bucky is nearly done with his sandwich. He feels suddenly aware of how much he’s been talking. “What about you?” Steve asks and takes another bite.</p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p>“When you’re not fixing up cars, what do you like doing?”</p><p>“Well, I take a lot of walks,” he says, motioning around. “Do some woodworking. Go biking.” He lifts his left arm. “It’s actually how this happened.”</p><p>Steve’s never given much thought to Bucky’s prosthetic arm, and he’s surprised to hear Bucky share. “What happened?”</p><p>“I was dumb and seventeen and thought I was invincible. I was mountain biking and lost control and fell off a cliff.” Bucky shakes his head. “Ended up in the ICU in a coma. Have a few other scars from it as well. Honestly, I was lucky I only lost an arm. It could have been worse.”</p><p>“Jesus. You were seventeen?”</p><p>“When I woke up, school was about to start, and I went around telling all my friends that the worst part of it all was that I missed most of the summer.”</p><p>“How can you just laugh about it?” The question comes off more serious than he means to, and he clarifies, “I just mean—everything seems to roll off your back.”</p><p>For a minute, Bucky considers the question. His eyes get cloudy and distant, and Steve wonders where his thoughts are. When he does speak, he speaks carefully. “I spent a long time being angry and pushing away good people. It’s really easy to get lost in that. Doing things with my hands helped. Steadied me. Calmed me down.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hence the woodworking.”</p><p>Steve kisses him on instinct. He steadies himself, palm flat on the dirt, as he leans in. The moment their lips touch, his breath catches in his throat. The kiss is light and gentle, but when Steve jerks away, suddenly conscious, the feeling lingers on his lips, and his skin feels as if it’s buzzing.</p><p>“<em>Finally</em>,” Bucky breathes, and he leans back in to close the gap. His hands close around the edge of Steve’s jacket, and he tugs him forward. They teeter and nearly topple backwards, but they manage to catch and steady themselves. Steve kisses him hard and cups his cheek, and his heart pounds against his chest. They pull back for a moment, and Steve runs his thumb over Bucky's bottom lip.</p><p>And then they’re kissing against, and Bucky’s lips part, and Steve gets lost in the sensation until a branch snaps behind them.</p><p>They break apart, but when they turn to look, all they see is a deer a few feet away, staring at them as it eats. Steve bursts into laughter, which is enough to send it running away, and when he turns to look at Bucky, his cheeks are red.</p><p>“You said finally,” Steve says, though it comes out as a bit of a question.</p><p>“Yeah, I was hoping you’d do that since we first got dinner together.”</p><p>Steve blinks slowly, surprised. “If you wanted to do that so badly, why didn’t you?”</p><p>“You said you wanted to go as friends,” Bucky says. “I wasn’t going to push you to do anything you didn’t want to do.” He stands up and brushes off his jeans before offering a hand to Steve.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Bucky’s house is beautiful, Steve decides the first time he sees it. It’s small and full of life. And when Bucky admits to building most of the furniture, Steve loves it even more. Despite having moved five months ago, he’s yet to hang a single thing up on his walls and has gotten used to the drab emptiness of his apartment.</p><p>It’s crowded and messy, but there’s a flow to it that Steve can spot. Moreover, it smells like Bucky.</p><p>“What do you want to eat?” Bucky asks as he pulls a pan off of a hook. “I was thinking coconut curry if that sounds good to you.”</p><p>He loves watching Bucky cook, but he knows that he has to put in the effort as well. “Sounds great. How can I help?”</p><p>“You can cut up the onion and the potatoes.” Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s temple, and when he turns around to get the beef from the fridge, Steve smiles and presses his hand where Bucky had kissed.</p><p>By his third visit, Steve convinces Bucky to show him the woodworking studio in his garage. There are several pieces of furniture at various points in the process. The only one that looks finished is a natural table made of cherry wood, the grain of the wood still exposed.</p><p>“Where’s that going?” Steve asks.</p><p>“It’s for my friend Natasha. She teaches Russian and French at the local high school.”</p><p>“Russian? At a high school?” Steve asks.</p><p>“She really wanted it offered to students, and they weren’t going to refuse her,” Bucky says and laughs. “Trust me. You don’t want to get on Nat’s bad side.”</p><p>“The name Natasha—she’s Russian, then?”</p><p>“Oh, is she.” Bucky runs his hand across the surface of the table. “She has a lot of pride about it.”</p><p>“When do I get to see you at work?” Steve steps behind Bucky and wraps his arms around his waist. He places his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky closes his eyes and leans back into Steve’s touch.</p><p>“When you say please. All you have to do is ask, Steve.”</p><p>He kisses Bucky rough and hungry, and Bucky twists until their bodies press together. When Bucky's hand moves to the back of his neck—just where his hair meets his neck—nails scraping against the skin, Steve shivers and hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Bucky's jeans and guiding them and pushing him down against the table.</p><p>He kisses down Bucky's jaw, body humming in anticipation as Bucky squirms beneath him and throws his head back. The skin on his neck exposed, Steve pauses and runs his tongue along it before sucking a dark spot on the skin.</p><p>They make quick work of shedding their clothes and fishing the condom out from Steve’s wallet, and by the time he has Bucky’s cock in his mouth, hands pinned down against the table, his own cock strains against his stomach. Still, he takes his time, watching Bucky writhe beneath him. Bucky’s fingers clutch the edge of the table when he comes.</p><p>When they fuck, Steve’s fingers dig into Bucky’s hip. He uses his free hand to tug Bucky back by his hair until they can kiss. Bucky barely has the strength to stay in the position for more than a minute. He whimpers as Steve rolls his lower lip between his teeth and arches his back.</p><p>Bucky comes first, and Steve follows shortly after. He holds Bucky when they’re done and peppers kisses up his back into the crook of his neck, and Bucky lets out a soft, affectionate hum. They’re silent for a moment, and then—</p><p>“Fuck,” Bucky groans. “You know this means I have to make Nat another table before Christmas.”</p><p>Although Bucky’s face is calm, Steve feels a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Bucky turns to face him, and their noses touch.</p><p>“Steve, it’s fine.” He smiles and rests a hand on Steve’s cheek, running his thumb along Steve’s jaw. “It’s a pain in the ass, but I think this qualifies as <em>worth it</em>.” His smile melts into something more devious. “Although, if it happens again, I will beat your ass. That was rather bold of you.”</p><p>They lay there for a short while, hands lazily exploring each other’s bodies, until Bucky stretches and groans. “Well, my back’s going to be shot tomorrow.”</p><p>Steve twists his shoulder back and sits up. “Do you want to order food?” he asks.</p><p>“Only if you’re paying,” Bucky teases.</p><p>* * *</p><p>They spend Thanksgiving with Bucky’s friends and Christmas in Brooklyn. Steve’s yet to sell his mother’s brownstone. Even with the utilities off for most of the year, it’s still costing him more money than he’d care to admit. When he steps into the foyer and turns on the light, the breath gets knocked out of him. He spent the year after her death sorting through and getting rid of most of her belongings, but even with all the differences, stepping in feels like coming home.</p><p>Bucky’s hand squeezes his shoulder, and Steve clears his throat and carries both of their bags up the stairs despite Bucky’s protests. “Which room did you grow up in?” Bucky asks from the hallway, and Steve points down and to the left.</p><p>“I’ve been keeping the boxes there, so it’s still a little cluttered.” He picks at his sweater and doesn’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes as he adds in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice. “If you see anything you like, you’re welcome to it. Most of it’s gone, but honestly, I just want to know it’s going to a good home.”</p><p>Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and slides a hand under Steve’s sweater until his hand is flat against his stomach. “How about we unpack, grab a bite to eat, and then you can show me around.” His thumb fiddles with the hem of Steve’s jeans, and Steve laughs, realizing that unpacking is maybe not quite what Bucky has in mind.</p><p>Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s and guides them both until Bucky topples backward onto the bed.</p><p>It takes them another two hours to go outside. The evening air bites at their noses, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Brooklyn is both familiar and completely foreign to him, and he does his best to soak it in, noting where old stores and restaurants have disappeared.</p><p>Most places are packed for Christmas Eve, but the streets are emptier than usual. It takes them a little while to find a place without an hour wait time—a small Italian bistro that Steve has never been to. His face feels stiff from the cold, and he lets out a pleased sigh as they sit down.</p><p>They don’t have the energy to look at the house when they get back and spend the next hour talking and drifting in and out until they finally fall asleep. The next morning, coffee in hand, Steve shows him around and shares stories of his childhood as Bucky beams at him.</p><p>They get to Tony’s apartment early for Christmas dinner. “Steve Rogers, as I live and breathe.” Tony hugs Steve and takes the wine bottle Steve offers him before turning to Bucky.</p><p>“I look forward to learning more about you,” he says. “It’s hard to get this kid to open up.” He points his thumb at Steve, and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Bucky says, and Tony smirks.</p><p>“Something tells me that we’re going to get along just swell.” He puts a hand on Bucky’s back, and they walk out of the foyer and down the hall. Steve is about to follow when he sees Pepper stepping down the stairs, putting in her earrings.</p><p>“Steve!” She pulls Steve into a tight hug.</p><p>“How have you two been?” Steve asks.</p><p>“Oh, you know. Tony’s constantly hopping between here and Ithaca. He has classes in Cornell on Mondays and Wednesdays, and NYU invited him as a guest lecturer for a class, so he teaches that on Thursdays.” She hands Steve a diamond necklace whose pattern matches her earrings. “Do you mind?” she asks and turns around. “I’m running late”</p><p>“Not at all.” Steve clasps it shut, and Pepper turns back around and smiles. “So not much has changed.”</p><p>“You know Tony.” Pepper waves dismissively. “It’s great to see you. Where’s the boy we’ve heard so much about?”</p><p>“Tony disappeared with him a minute ago.”</p><p>“Let’s go rescue him, then,” Pepper says, and they make their way to the living room. Tony and Bucky stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows as Tony points at something either in Central Park or past it.</p><p>“I hope my husband hasn’t bored you,” Pepper says, and they both turn around. She pulls Bucky into a warm hug.</p><p>“Not at all,” Bucky says. When Pepper steps out of earshot, he turns to Steve and mutters, “You didn’t tell me their apartment looks like <em>this</em>. Holy shit.” Steve chuckles.</p><p>The buzzer rings just after they settle into conversation. Tony disappears, and when he comes back, Steve jumps up. “Bucky, this is Sam and his girlfriend Leila,” he says.</p><p>“Here I was wondering whether Steve made you up,” Sam says as he looks at Bucky. He extends a hand, and Bucky shakes it.</p><p>“I think you’ll like him,” Tony says. “He was sharing with me how he and Steve met earlier. He’s a hoot.”</p><p>“Were you?” Steve asks and raises an eyebrow. Bucky gives his best innocent expression, and the room laughs.</p><p>When Steve and Sam hug, Steve feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. It’s been since May since he’s seen him—excluding when they Skype. “You’re looking good,” Sam says as they let go. “Digging the beard. New school treating you well?”</p><p>“It’s been good. How’s Queensborough?”</p><p>“Alright. Same old bullshit as always, but the kids are great. You know how it goes. Just when you’re feeling steady, CUNY throws something new at you.” Steve lets out a hum of agreement, and when both he and Sam sigh at the same time, they can’t help but laugh.</p><p>Steve turns to look for Bucky, not wanting to leave him to navigate the party on his own, but when he spots him by the table, pouring a beer into a curved pint glass, he’s caught in conversation with Leila.</p><p>“Let’s go get them before they spill all our secrets,” Sam says.</p><p>Before long, the room fills up. Steve introduces Bucky to one person after another—first Peggy and Daniel, then Rhodey, Maria, and—finally—Peter and May.</p><p>Steve lingers well past dinner, caught in conversation. At some point, May points out that it’s snowing, and everyone crowds by the windows, speaking in hushed, excited whispers as they watch it dance past them. Steve has rarely missed New York, but he misses this. And when Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and leans a head on his shoulder, Steve imagines freezing this moment in time and wishes they could stay like this forever.</p><p>But the night inevitably ends. People leave one by one. It’s just past one in the morning when they leave with Sam and Leila, hugging and waving goodbye before stepping into their separate cabs. He leans his head on the window and watches the city go past him, surrounded by bright lights.</p><p>* * *</p><p>It hits him in January with the start of the new semester that he’s halfway through his year-long tenure as visiting professor. He wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, thankful that it’s one of the rare nights he’s not with Bucky. Somehow, he’s managed to forget that it’s temporary. This town has begun to feel like home.</p><p>He makes himself a cup of coffee and opens his laptop. By the time the sun rises, he feels feverish. He steps into the shower and keeps the water running far past he’s done—until the water runs cold. When he sees himself in the mirror, his eyes look puffy and sunken in way that they haven’t for months. Steve frowns and gets himself ready for class.</p><p>When he sees Bucky later that evening, Bucky must sense that something is off. At first, he says nothing. His eyes follow Steve with a focused curiosity until he must decide that it’s worth broaching the subject. “You okay?” he asks.</p><p>Steve surprises even himself when he says, “Yeah, just tired.” He bites the inside of his cheek and debates correcting himself, but a bubble grows in his throat until he feels as if he can’t speak. “Didn’t sleep well,” he manages to get out. “Had some bad dreams.”</p><p>Bucky’s worried expression gives way to something gentler, and he sits beside Steve on the couch and wraps an arm around his waist. “Sorry I brought it up, then.”</p><p>It bothers Steve how easy it is to lie to Bucky, and when Bucky next speaks, it takes Steve a moment to realize that he’s only half-listening, still caught up in his thoughts.</p><p>He has every intention on telling Bucky, but as time passes, it feels as if the opportunity has passed, and he hates the idea of worrying Bucky on behalf of a few job applications. So he says nothing despite the gnawing feeling in his stomach.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Steve is in a foul mood by the time Bucky is able to meet him in the bar. Three drinks in, he’s moving from buzzed to tipsy. It’s enough to lessen his filter.</p><p>“Sorry I couldn’t come earlier. There was a car I got caught up with,” Bucky says as he turns himself in his stool until he’s facing Steve. “Tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>“You remember Ricky?” Steve asks.</p><p>“The kid you were helping apply to PhD programs. Sure.”</p><p>“He’s gotten rejections from four out of the five programs he applied to.” Steve’s shoulders fold in on each other, and he reaches up and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “I guarantee you he’s more dedicated than some of the students who got in.” He runs his hand over his face and groans. “The whole system’s set up so that even under perfect circumstances, he’s not going to be given a fighting chance. Some rich kid from Harvard whose parents paid someone to write his essay for him is more likely to get into a school than anyone who went to community college. And why? Nepotism? Good ole’ fashioned elitism?”</p><p>Steve feels Bucky’s arm on his shoulder and shakes him off. “Steve…” There’s a forced gentleness to Bucky’s voice, and Steve’s cheeks burn.</p><p>“I’m <em>fine</em>.” When he reaches for his drink and finds the glass empty, he scowls. “Can you help me get the bartender and order another whiskey on the rocks?” Steve asks.</p><p>“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me why you’re so upset—besides nepotism—and I’ll let you have another drink when we get home.”</p><p>“Go home?” Steve asks, but he can already tell from the expression on Bucky’s face that this is not a fight he’s going to win.</p><p>Bucky sidesteps the question. “Did you pay for the drinks you already had?” When Steve nods, he stands up. For a moment, he considers stubbornly sitting and waiting, but it seems pointless. He follows Bucky to his car and settles in.</p><p>“So, you promised to tell me why you’re so upset,” Bucky says once they’ve been driving for five minutes.</p><p>“Technically, I didn’t promise. You assumed,” Steve says, but he continues quickly before he regrets his words. “Besides, I already told you why. Ricky really deserves to get in.”</p><p>“Why him?” Bucky asks. There’s no attempt at pushing back, only curiosity.</p><p>“Everyone thinks that a good chunk of being a teacher is grading bad papers. But that’s not true. Being a teacher means grading some bad papers and a lot of perfectly decent ones. Everyone once in a while, you get someone who not only knows what they’re doing but really cares. They’re not just doing it because they have to. They want to.”</p><p>“I know this isn’t fair, but you’ve also dealt with a lot of bullshit with academia. What makes this different?”</p><p>Steve adjusts his attention out of the window and rests his arm on the car door. “I promised I’d help him get in.” His heart pounds between his ears, and his gaze softens until everything is just out of focus. “I broke that promise.”</p><p>“You didn’t. You helped him apply, and I know you did it to the best of your ability.”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. I made him think he stood a chance. I should have known better.”</p><p>For a long while, Bucky doesn’t say anything. The only sound in the car is the hum of the engine, and the sudden quiet makes him suddenly aware of himself. Steve adjusts how he’s seated just as Bucky speaks. “You care so deeply. It’s one of my favorite things about you. I’m not going to tell you how to feel. It sucks to break a promise when you’re not the only one responsible for making it happen. But it happens, and I know you’re going to find different ways to help him.”</p><p>Steve nods, and his eyes burn. “I just hate that I let him down.”</p><p>“I’m sure there are plenty of people and things that let him down. You’re not one of them.” Bucky turns the wheel, and it takes Steve a moment to realize that they’re pulling into the driveway. “Now, I believe <em>I</em> promised to give you another drink.”</p><p>“Thank you, Bucky.” He doesn’t have to say it for Bucky to know that he’s not referring to the drink.</p><p>They get inside, and Steve settles down on the couch. After a moment, Bucky comes into the living room with a glass of whiskey on the rocks. “Now can I talk to you about something?”</p><p>“Am I in trouble?” Steve asks and warily eyes the glass. Bucky laughs and shakes his head.</p><p>“Nothing of the sort.” After Steve takes the drink, Bucky sits down on the armchair and faces Steve. The anticipation is clear on his face, and Steve’s body tenses as he waits, suddenly on edge. “Maybe this is the wrong time, but I wanted to ask if you’d move in with me.” It takes a moment for the question to sink in, and Bucky’s face scrunches up in worry. “I know it’s only been five months. I know that’s fast, but—"</p><p>“Yes.” Steve barely remembers to set the drink down before lurching forward and pulling Bucky into a hug.</p><p>When they pull apart, Bucky tilts his head to the side and presses his lips together. “What’s the last school Ricky applied to?”</p><p>“What?” Steve asks. His previous thoughts already seem so far away.</p><p>“You said he’s been rejected from four out of the five PhD programs. He’s still waiting for one.”</p><p>“Oh, right. Stony Brook.”</p><p>“Do you think he stands a chance to get in? Honestly?” After considering, Steve nods. “Then you didn’t break your promise yet.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>In March, Steve gets a request for an in-person interview in Glendale and slows down enough to realize that he’s made a mistake in not telling Bucky. He doesn’t know what he expected. It always seemed easy to rely on the promise of <em>eventually </em>that he’s never allowed himself to consider the possible repercussions.</p><p>He spends all day on campus fidgeting, and when Bucky texts him, he nearly begins to cry. He leaves midway through his office hours and uses the time he has to cook dinner—a beef goulash recipe that Bucky taught him how to make. It’s never been enough to soothe him the way it has Bucky, but it takes his mind off of it enough that he jumps when the door opens.</p><p>“Smells delicious. When did you have time to make all of this?” Bucky says before pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips.</p><p>“I got home early,” Steve says, and he hears the way his voice quivers.</p><p>“If I didn’t know better, I’d be worried,” Bucky says. He starts to laugh, but it quickly dies in his throat when Steve blanches. “Should I be worried?” His hand drops from Steve’s arm.</p><p>“Can it wait until after dinner?” Steve asks, but he knows the answer even before Bucky says it.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The silence lingers between them for a moment, and Steve’s eyes burn. After a steadying breath, he finally speaks. “As you know, my position here’s going to be up in May. I’ve been sending applications. I’ve heard back from a few places, but I’ve got an in-person interview in two weeks in Glendale.”</p><p>Bucky’s face lies still, and somehow to Steve that is worse than any reaction. “In California?” he asks, his voice steady but hollow. Steve nods his head up and down. “I see.” He feels his heartbeat between his ears and waits, but Bucky continues staring at him, vacant.</p><p>“Say something. Please.”</p><p>“You’ve been applying to jobs?” Bucky asks. His voice wavers, and it strikes Steve that what he’s taken to be forced apathy is hurt.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Since when?” Steve swallows visibly, and Bucky starts to quiver. “Since when, Steve?”</p><p>“January.”</p><p>“And at no point between now and January did you think to tell me?” His voice starts to rise in volume, and Steve flinches.</p><p>“Of course I did. I just didn’t know how to, and then it felt like it was too late. And you never asked me about what I was going to do when this job was up, so I figured you must have not wanted to think about it either.”</p><p>“And I figured you’d worked something out! You weren’t talking about it, so I started to wonder if I misremembered and maybe you were here for longer than a year. Or, I figured, you’d just gotten an extension. I assumed that if it was something I needed to worry about, you would have said something.”</p><p>Steve’s chest feels tight as he realizes that Bucky is pushing him away. Before he can stop himself, he asks, “Do you not want me to take the interview?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you want from me,” Bucky yells and throws his hands up. For a moment, Steve is certain that Bucky will walk out, but his arms drop, and he repeats himself, quieter. “What do you want from me, Steve?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Steve asks. The pressure on his chest grows, making it difficult to breathe. He’s certain he just has to say one more wrong thing, and this will be over.</p><p>“You can’t possibly expect me to drop everything and move across the country with you.”</p><p>“No, of course no!” Steve takes a step forward, but Bucky’s eyes harden, and he waves his hands in front of him, urging Steve not to move closer.</p><p>“So you were just going to leave without me?”</p><p>“No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”</p><p>“Do you want to leave?” There’s no accusation in Bucky’s tone. He sounds exhausted, depleted. But Steve’s never considered what he wants. There’s no other college in a fifty-mile radius. What choice does he have?</p><p>Considering it now makes his head spin. Until now, leaving Bucky has never felt concrete. It’s just been the logical next step to apply to jobs. The <em>what now </em>has always been purely theoretical. He shakes his head. “No.”</p><p>“Then what is it? What are you so afraid of?”</p><p>“What am I supposed to do when the semester’s up?” Steve asks.</p><p>“I don’t know, but this kind of thing needs to be a conversation, and if you can’t give me that, this isn’t going to work.” For a moment, fear flashes in Bucky’s eyes before his jaw clenches and he pushes it firmly away. Steve takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, he feels the weight of the last three months settle into his body.</p><p>“I guess I was afraid that I’d scare you away if I told you back in January. We hadn’t been dating for that long, and I didn’t know if it would have felt worth it to try when that feels like an expiration date.”</p><p>“But it doesn’t have to be an expiration date,” Bucky says.</p><p>“So, what’s the solution?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t know that there’s an easy one, but I would have thought it’d be worth it to try to find one, even in January. I love you.”</p><p>The confession knocks all the breath out of him, and he stands still, rooted to the spot. Bucky meets him and takes his hand in his own before pressing a kiss to each knuckle. “I love you too,” Steve breathes back, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, the moment will evaporate.</p><p>“Then talk to me.”</p><p>“I want to. I’m just not very good at opening up,” Steve admits.</p><p>“I want to help you, but you have to let me.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>Bucky surprises him on campus in early April. Steve’s lost in a stack of papers when he hears someone clear their throat. He jumps, earning a small laugh from Bucky.</p><p>“Your focus is admirable,” Bucky says as he steps in and closes the office door behind him. The office he’s been given is barely big enough to accommodate the two of them, and Steve pulls Bucky down until he’s on his lap.</p><p>“Well, anything I had is certainly gone now,” Steve says. He nips at Bucky’s jaw, and Bucky laughs, though he glances at the office door apprehensively.</p><p>“I think I have some good news, and while I feel like I would love whatever distraction you have up your sleeve, I think it’s better if I stand up.” He pulls himself back up, and Steve bites his lower lip, trying to push down the immediate worry. Good news is relative, like the job offer he’s received from Glendale.</p><p>“You better share before I lose my mind,” Steve says. “You know I’m not good with surprises.”</p><p>Bucky pouts. “But you’re typically so composed. It’s fun to watch you squirm.” Nonetheless, he continues quickly. “There’s an opening at the high school next year for an AP History teacher.”</p><p>The news is far from what Steve is expecting, and he opens his mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.</p><p>“I know it’s not exactly what you were looking for, and I get if the differences are too much,” Bucky continues. “But I was talking with Nat, and she mentioned that their longtime history teacher was retiring, and well—”</p><p>“What do I have to do?” The prospect of staying with Bucky hits him all at once.</p><p>“Well, Nat can put in a good word for you, but you’d still have to apply and go through the process like everyone else.” Steve nods vigorously, and Bucky continues. “I think you have a good chance, though. You met the principal, Nick Fury, at Thanksgiving.”</p><p>“I remember him,” Steve says. He didn’t talk much to him, but he remembers his stern expression.</p><p>“Are you sure this is what you want?” Bucky asks. “I don’t want you to do anything for my sake.”</p><p> “I want this,” Steve reassures. And he lets the possibility wash over him until he feels as if he’s floating.</p><p>* * *</p><p>He watches Bucky work from the cool of the store. “You’re going to scare away customers if you stare any harder,” Clint says. “Are you going to spend your whole summer here?”</p><p>“That’s quite the exaggeration,” Steve says. “I’ve been here at most once a week.” Clint scoffs but says nothing. He waits until he sees the customer leave before stepping out and making his way over to Bucky.</p><p>The summer sun beats down unrelentingly, and when Steve hands Bucky a cold water bottle, he earns an affectionate albeit exhausted look. “Thank you,” Bucky says and takes a long sip. “Fuck, that’s amazing.” He wipes the sweat off of his brow and groans as Steve leans in to kiss him. “I’m so hot.”</p><p>“I know. That’s the point.” Steve looks him up and down, and Bucky rolls his eyes.</p><p>“And here I thought you were supposed to be the well-behaved one. I swear that all I have to do is put on a pair of overalls, and you can barely keep your hands off of me,” he chastises. “You know we’re in public, right?” Despite his words, there are no customers in sight, and Steve uses the opportunity to press a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck.</p><p>“It’s not just the overalls. It’s the grease. It’s everything. Makes me want to bend you over the hood of one of these cars and fuck you.”</p><p>“Well, that doesn’t sound too comfortable.” Bucky laughs, but a mischievous look enters his eyes. “I go on my lunch break in twenty. Clint will kill me if I run over again, but if you don’t mind being quick, we can go home.”</p><p>“I thought you were too hot.”</p><p>“Maybe I changed my mind.”</p><p>It’s barely enough time, but Steve has always loved a challenge. “Good. Well, I’m going to go wait inside. I’ve been told I’m too distracting to stick around all day.”</p><p>“As much as I want you here, I’m going to have to agree with Clint on that one,” Bucky says. “Now kiss me and leave before you get me in trouble.”</p><p>Even after nine months, his stomach flips when they kiss. It’s no longer new—now familiar. His fingers tighten around the front of Bucky’s shirt as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow and lazy, tempered by the thick mid-afternoon heat, and when they pull back, Steve lets out a soft moan.</p><p>He sits back down as soon as he gets inside, and although Clint says nothing, he can feel his eyes on him. After a minute, he’s had enough, and he looks up. “What do you want, Barton?”</p><p>“You make him happy,” he says, and the earnestness catches Steve off-guard. He’s used to scowls and furrowed brows, but Clint smiles as he stands up and makes his way toward the door.</p><p>“He makes me happy too,” Steve says.</p><p>* * *</p><p>The fluorescent lights cast a yellow hue across the room. Steve’s palms sweat, and he clears his throat as he walks to the front of the classroom. “I’m Dr. Rogers,” he says as he hands out the syllabus to the first student in each row, “and I’ll be your AP World teacher.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was a prompt fill for <a href="https://marybolkonskys.tumblr.com/">marybolkonskys</a>: "What are you so afraid of?" And a huge shout out to <a href="https://sirdorkalot.tumblr.com/">sirdorkalot</a> for editing and catching my 3am typos.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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